


Delinquent Love

by orphan_account



Category: South Park
Genre: Bad Boy Gregory, He can say fuck words, He's rude now, Randy gets pissed off a lot, Romance, Stangoryyy, Swearing, Tegridy Farms Bullshit, Theft, Underage Smoking, Vandalism, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2019-10-15
Packaged: 2020-12-17 06:10:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21049607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Gregory has found courage and excitement in getting into quite a bit of trouble after a year or so after he'd first moved to South Park, suddenly that mayhem and bad behavior has caught the attention of one Stanley Marsh.





	Delinquent Love

Gregory, now a young chap of almost 10 years old, had learned three key components about life in the time he spent growing with his friends since the event of the war: He quite liked his hair long, private school was a waste of his intellect, and there was nothing better than spending his idle time getting into mischief. 

This brilliant Thursday’s trouble was a regular for Gregory, Christophe, and one jacket-less Craig Tucker. The act of hopping the long wooden fences of farmers and stealing their wares for cheap, quick consumption… or to chuck at their poor livestock. 

Leaping the fence and tumbling off into the manure-soiled grass, Gregory inched around the view of the farmer- who was tending to a small crop of marijuana he’d been working at in a small corner of land- before reaching into a tree and wrenching out a couple of apples. 

The farmer’s head whipped around and he adjusted his hat, screaming, “OI! YOU BOY, GIT BACK HERE WITH MY APPLES!” 

Gregory took a deep breath and blew a raspberry at the farmer, “You’ll have to catch me first you dilapidated mindless do-nothing!” he teased. 

“BACK HERE RIGHT NOW YOU TROUBLESOME LITTLE BASTARD OR I’LL TELL YER DADDY!” the farmer yelled. 

Gregory laughed, vaulting over the fence with the apples, “I’ll be back tomorrow, I’ll be sure to give you his number old man!” he called out, running off with the apples in arms. 

Christophe and Craig giggled as the three boys chowed down on their apples, relishing in the juicy splendor of the fruit until they chucked the cores into the compost pile near the farm’s border fence. The little scamps rarely ate fruit with such joy at home, but there was something inherently scrumptious about the fruit that was swiped unwittingly from some crotchety old fuckhead. 

“Mmmm, where to next, gentlemen?” Gregory asked, rubbing his hands together gleefully as he ran a hand through his hair. 

“Let’s hit up the farm to the left, they have strawberries,” Craig said monotonously. 

“Marvelous! Mole, tunneling in from the back?” Gregory asked, watching the French boy salute and run around to the rear of the farm plot, digging aggressively with his massive shovel and giggling. 

“I’m dropping in from that tree over there,” Craig whispered, rushing over to a tree that leaned from its rooted spot, draping over a small pile of dirt in the corner of the fenced-in farmland. 

Gregory chuckled as he got a running start, leaping over the fence and landing on his feet, grinning at the bounty of strawberries before him. Though, they were rather dirty… being touched by worms and all that… it was disgusting. Grabbing a pail and running it under a leaking irrigation valve, Gregory procured a bucket of water to dip his strawberries in before he ate them. 

The three boys had a blast, shoveling bundle after bundle of strawberries past their lips, fingertips, faces, and shirts stained with juice, stomachs bubbly and sick with the acidic deliciousness. 

Contented and vaguely sticky, the trio shook hands on a job well done and palmed the massive “NO TRESSPASSING” sign held up in front of the bountiful bushes, staining it with sticky red ant-bait handprints. 

“HEY! OI FUCK, COME BACK HERE Y’ LITTLE SHITS! I’LL BE TALKIN’ TO YER PARENTS!!” the frustrated farmer screeched, running out and shaking his fist at the boys as they all hopped the fence, scrambling away from the property in uproarious laughter. 

“That was fun, one more round before we go home?” Gregory asked, grinning. 

“Oui, now we hit up the pot farms,” Christophe snickered, lighting a cigarette and taking a deep enough drag to burn through a quarter of the stick’s length before exhaling. 

“Oh… well, Father’d have my hide if he caught me smoking marijuana… it’s a dirty thing, the poor man’s drug, truly,” Gregory huffed in his holier-than-thou way. 

“The war on drugs was manufactured to give the police a reason to be dicks to minorities and to blame minorities on the spark of the world’s problems, read up on it, it’s fucked up,” Craig droned. 

“Anyway, we aren’t going to smoke it… we’re just going to steal it… sell it off to someone else who smokes it, maybe,” Christophe announced. 

“Well I suppose that’s okay,” Gregory pondered, wandering over and reading the massive sign reading ‘TEGRIDY FARMS’ on a post. 

“Oh this is Stan’s Dad’s farm… let’s go,” Craig chuckled, rolling over the fence as Christophe picked the lock on the side gate into lush fields of marijuana. 

Gregory hopped the fence and giggled, fanning the rich pot smell away from him, gagging a little, in spite of trying to be even more rebellious than he already was as an anti-establishment revolutionary, he was still posh and sensitive. 

Snatching thick bushels out of their roots, Craig and Christophe peered around, arms filled up with weed until they could barely see past it. 

“Farmer’s coming!” Gregory whispered as he gathered a massive bushel himself as well, twitching his long, pointed nose and whipping his head around to see Randy running out, high off his ass, holding a rake. 

“GET THE FUCK OFF MY FARM YOU LITTLE TURDS!” Randy hollered, swatting at Gregory with the rake only to miss and fall into the dirt. 

“Fuck off bastard!” Christophe shouted back, climbing the fence and running off, Craig following behind. 

Gregory glanced between his friends and Randy, a devious grin flashing across his face as he ran up and punted the stoned farmer square in the noggin as hard as he could muster. 

“AUGHH! SHIT! SHARON HELP ME!” Randy yelled as Gregory hurried over the fence, snickering deviously. 

What Gregory hadn’t seen was the blushing face of one Stanley Marsh bloom an adorable smile as the raven-haired 4th grader watched someone who he’d assumed to be a punk pretentious theater nerd kick his asshole father in the face. 

“Ta-ta, you old bastard!” Gregory cheered from behind the fence as he rushed off to go find Craig and Christophe. 

“Woah,” Stan breathed excitedly, gently tugging at his T-shirt’s bottom end while Randy squirmed on the ground, nose bleeding and grumbling about Gregory and his merry band of misfits. Stan would have to talk to Gregory at school tomorrow… not about the farm, of course, fuck the farm, but about how fucking awesome that was. 

That evening, arriving home from his afternoon of shenanigans, Gregory sat in his bedroom listening to his father’s regular schpeel about how he’d fallen off the wagon as an upstanding little cricket player. 

“You’re a stellar educational marvel, my boy, but you really ought to get it together elsewhere, I mean look at you, hair down to your back like a little girl, running about and sullying yourself past teatime, run along and take a bath before I take off my belt and let it see what it thinks about the current state of affairs with your being,” Leonard- Gregory’s father- announced. 

Gregory only scoffed and rolled his eyes, storming over to the pantry and sneaking a cookie from the top before getting another brief earful of his father’s rambling and knocking the jar to the floor in frustration, snickering as he heard it shatter on the tile floor. 

“Gregory James Ainsworth, what in blast’s name do you think you’re doing?! No such behavior will be tolerated in this household, young man, none at all!” Leonard yelled. 

“Leonard, please, have some decorum!” Beatrice objected, defending her son as best she could. 

“Then maybe he ought to behave like he’s got the good sense Yardale was meant to instill in him, for god’s sake look at the little bloke, he hasn’t bothered with his cricket lessons in months and he doesn’t even attend church with us,” Leonard barked, “What have you to say for yourself, young man before I send you off to your room, eh?” 

“I say you ought to loosen your belt a couple notches you limey bastard,” Gregory huffed, flouncing off to his room with a smirk on his face as Leonard threw a fit downstairs. The beautiful privileges of having uptight yet wondrously stupid parents. 

That night, as he giggled to himself, Gregory thought about school the next day, it would be Friday, and Fridays were always the perfect time for him and his friends’ foolishness. 

The next day, at school, sitting in his chair and doing his work, Gregory felt someone tapping his back and turned around. One Stan Marsh hovered behind him, a smile on his face as Gregory flopped out of his chair. 

“Goodness! For heaven’s sake, Stanley, personal space applies to you as well, you know,” Gregory huffed nonchalantly, raising his chin and turning up his pointed nose at the tan boy in the blue hat, returning to his work. 

“You stole pot from my Dad’s stupid farm,” Stan muttered, “That was pretty cool… you gonna do it again?” 

“I beg your pardon?” Gregory asked. 

“You stole weed… from the farm… are you gonna do it again today?” Stan asked. 

“Not as of current, the lads and I are going down to the shops out on the main street by Stark’s pond to sneak stock out and smash windows in with stones,” Gregory chuckled. 

“Can I come? I wanna watch…” Stan breathed, eyes glimmering and wide… they were a deep blue, focused and beautiful with every flutter of his eyelashes. 

Gregory felt his heart pound in his chest and his cheeks flushed a deeper red than his natural English rosiness would allow for, his face growing hot as he flashed a winning photogenic smile at Stan in return, “Of course, Stanley, coming round with us after school or will we have to make the long trek out to pick you up?” he asked. 

“After school,” Stan agreed. 

“Settled then, see you later,” Gregory stammered, watching Stan hurry off as he went back to whatever it is he’d been doing, he himself had long forgotten. 

After school, Gregory stood near the side of the school with Christophe and Craig as he got a message from his mother on his phone, peeking with intrigue before immediately rolling his eyes. 

‘Have a good play, son! Mind your clothes and shoes, lest they get wet. Don’t fill up, I’ll have a treat and supper waiting when you get home and don’t get into mischief or I shan’t be quiet about any news I hear to your father. 

-Love, Mummy’

Gregory gagged and shoved his phone into his pocket, scoffing, “I’ll get into mischief if I please, mother,” before tying back his hair and letting it land in a ponytail down to his shoulders. 

“I’m here!” Stan wheezed out as he ran to the group, the little ushanka-wearing redhead trailing behind as Stan took a puff of his inhaler, “I’m ready!” 

“Good… you’ve brought a little friend,” Gregory hissed, the vitriol he spat in Kyle’s direction out of resentment for Christophe earlier during the war, the little red-haired boy was nothing but half-assed speeches and Mommy issues. 

“I hope it’s cool Kyle came with me,” Stan muttered, rubbing his upper arm. 

Gregory’s face brightened immediately, “Of course, come along, we’re going to go chuck rocks into the window of Tom’s Rhinoplasty,” he giggled, walking briskly with the group following. 

Arriving behind the store in question Gregory grabbed hold of a rather large stone, taking a deep breath and launching it at the store’s window, hearing it shatter the glass and slam on the ground inside. 

“DAMN KIDS! I KNOW YOU’RE OUT THERE, I JUST FIXED THIS WINDOW, YOUNG MAN, DON’T THINK I WON’T TELL YOUR MOM!” a masculine voice yelled from inside. 

Gregory gulped and tugged on Stan’s sleeve, running off as a man clad in a white button-up shirt wandered around back with a crowbar and his cell phone, looking confused as to where the kids managed to get off to. 

“Hmm… the pharmacy next?” Gregory inquired, grabbing a rock and handing it to Christophe, snickering as the young Frenchman screamed in delight, chucking the rock and sending it straight through the window. 

A scream could be heard from inside, and the gaggle of young boys snickered in response to it, all huddled up around one another as Christophe chucked another rock, Craig following behind until all of the back windows were shattered, the boys speeding off again. 

Three hours and about thirty shattered windows and storefronts later, and the group relaxed near the pond, catching their breath and relaxing as they laughed at pictures they’d taken of the events, Stan and Craig recording the whole time on their phones. 

“God, the shopkeep’s face when I shattered the front was far too funny,” Gregory laughed, flopping onto his back next to the patch of grass Stan was sitting on. 

“It really was, it was fuckin’ hilarious,” Stan chuckled, before taking a flushed glance at Gregory, noting the sweat-dampened hair clinging to the blonde’s face. 

“What are you looking at, Stanley?” Gregory asked, his voice soft. 

“You’ve never sworn before… say ‘fuck’,” Stan requested. 

Gregory gasped, “I would never!” he complained, his face turning beet red as he made eye contact with stan, his emerald eyes meeting stan’s blue irises and his heart throbbing in his chest. 

“Say it once or you’re a pussy,” Stan teased, sticking out his tongue, “And pussies get tossed in the pond.” 

Gregory huffed and folded his arms, mumbling, “ F...Fuck .”

“What was that? Couldn’t hear you, c’mon, say it,” Stan asked, leaning in and holding a hand to his ear, a sly grin on his face. 

“Fuck.” Gregory huffed bitterly, embarrassed. 

“C’monn, I know you can do it louder than thaat,” Stan teased, playfully shoving Gregory until the Brit stumbled and stubbed his toe against a large stone. 

“FUCK! Aw, bloody hell that fucking hurts!” Gregory hissed, jumping and holding the offending foot as he continued to screech out obscenities. 

“GREGORY!” 

The boys all turned and got an eyeful of Gregory’s mother walking adjacent to one of Pip’s mothers with a shopping bag full of groceries and an angered look on her face. 

“Oh fucking hell, c’mon now,” Gregory scoffed, tugging at his eyelids. 

“That is enough of that language, young man, what has gotten into you?! Come along, I’ll be taking you home, you shan’t be playing with these ruffians anymore!” Beatrice scolded, extending a hand and giving Gregory an impatient grimace. 

Gregory thought for a moment until Stan whispered something in his ear and he grinned, “I’ll do whatever I damn well please on my own playtime, Mother, feck off and mind your own business,” he huffed nonchalantly. 

“What did you say, young man?!” Beatrice yelped angrily. 

“I SAID FUCK OFF, MUM!” Gregory screamed, tossing a rock in Beatrice’s direction to make his point before beckoning for the group to join him as he stormed off into the woods near Stark’s Pond. 

Beatrice gasped and balled her fists, glaring at Gregory before sighing and turning away from her son to go on about her day, Gregory beaming with pride that he’d managed to piss off his mother and get away with it. 

“Woah… you just told your Mom to fuck off,” Stan breathed. 

Gregory smiled, “Yes. I did indeed,” he confirmed. 

“Dude, that’s pretty cool,” Stan declared, grabbing hold of Gregory’s hand before pushing his idle hand into Gregory’s left pocket, watching the Brit’s cheeks flush. 

“Gay,” Christophe snickered, punching Craig in the arm as the two wandered off, watching Gregory and Stan slowly follow. 

“Stanley-” 

“Mhm, Greg?” 

“Have you ever… harbored strong feelings for someone? In a way that sets your heart ablaze and makes you want to just… buy them flowers, and look them in the eye and unlock to them the secrets of the universe?” Gregory asked hurriedly, his voice tapering off as he got deeper in his thoughts. 

Stan scratched his head, blushing a little as he stammered out, “Uhh… I mean once I gave Wendy a dandelion I found on the playground and she put it in her hair.” 

“Do you still…  _ like _ Wendy?” Gregory asked. 

Stan simply shrugged. 

“What do you say, we go pay your father’s farm a visit… grab some old wine bottles from the vineyard across the way and molotov the  ** _shit_ ** out of the old bastard’s marijuana?” Gregory asked, grinning slyly. 

Stan jumped and gripped Gregory’s hand tighter as the group of boys followed suit, Kyle choosing to taper off back into town, rolling his eyes at the heist-in-progress. 

An hour later, the group of boys were hunched behind the long, shoddily-made fence surrounding Tegridy farms, Gregory toying with a lighter as he held a wine bottle with liquor-soaked cloth in it. 

“Once he comes out from the back door, we light and then we launch, got it?” Craig whispered, the boys all nodding. 

The thudding of Randy’s oafish footfalls signaled the boys to set their protruding cloths ablaze, throwing the bottles into the crop yield and watching the fiery bursts torching the weed as Randy screamed angrily. 

“YOU DAMN KIDS, GET OFF MY- STAN?!” Randy hollered out, eyes wild with rage. 

“FUCK TEGRIDY, DAD!” Stan yelled back. 

Randy grunted and screeched aimlessly, grabbing a stone from the porch and tossing it, successfully beaning Gregory in the head, sending the Brit crashing into the dirt, only for him to rise back up with a bleeding gash in the side of his head and a surly frown on his face. 

“YOU SMACKED ME CLEAN IN THE FECKIN’ SKULL YOU DAFT CUNT! FUCK OFF!” Gregory yelled in a startling cockney accent, quickly putting his hands over his mouth after he’d finished, “Bloody hell, what was that?” 

“YOU TAKE YOUR FROG ASS OFF MY PROPERTY YOU LITTLE SHIT, YOU AND YOUR LITTLE HOODLUM FRIENDS!” Randy yelled. 

“I’M BRITISH YOU DENSE SACK OF DOG SHIT!” Gregory screamed back, chucking the rock Randy had thrown back in his face, sending him yelling for Sharon and back into the house. 

“Wow,” Christophe droned, taking a puff of his cigarette as Craig clapped monotonously. 

Gregory turned to Stan, “My, my, that was rather invigorating, wouldn’t you agree, Stanley?” he asked, cheeks red with excitement as his sparkling emerald eyes stared into Stan’s. 

At that very moment, Stan proceeded to vomit all over Gregory’s pants and shoes, looking stunned as Gregory moved a strand of hair out of his face to assess the damage, seemingly unperturbed by the vomit itself. 

“Aw, shit dude, I’m sorry,” Stan murmured. 

Gregory held up a hand to Stan’s face, stopping him, before saying in a sly tone of voice, “Stanley Marsh… do you  ** _like_ ** me?” he asked, hands behind his back as another splatter of vomit coated his pant legs. 

Stan nodded, wiping the vomit off of his mouth, “Mhm…” 

Gregory laughed, playfully shoving Stan before gazing into his eyes again, “After school, same time tomorrow, we’re going to spray paint one of the boats on the dock… would you care to join us, Stanley?” he asked, stroking the underside of Stan’s chin. 

Stan gagged briefly, gulping as he pulled himself together and replied, “Sure.” 

“Well then, see you after one more trip ‘round the sun, ta-ta Stanley,” Gregory giggled, beckoning for the rest of the group to follow after him as he flounced off into the dense brush heading back towards town. 

Stan took a deep breath, staring at the group as they vanished out of sight, before kicking one of Randy’s fence posts and wandering inside to write something… something predictably edgy… with a lot of hearts drawn in the paper margins. 

  
  



End file.
